


What is a Will?

by Mad_Merry



Series: Onward, Onward. [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Character Study, Drowning, Gen, Introspection, Past Drug Addiction, Sibling Love, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Merry/pseuds/Mad_Merry
Summary: Reggie thinks. Reggie struggles.
Relationships: Delsin Rowe & Reggie Rowe, Desmond Miles & Reggie Rowe, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Onward, Onward. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630102
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	What is a Will?

Reggie used to be a smoker. 

He likes to tell himself not that bad of one; one pack could easily last him a couple of weeks if he was smart, and he was _always_ smart, of course. He was after all, the eldest son of his parents. Precious, successful and full of potential that could not be soiled. 

_I know how to deal with it,_

_I know when enough is enough,_

_It’s only once._

Addiction, however, was not forgiving regardless of one’s frequency. What began as a product of peer pressure and the early nineties soon turned into a beast in itself. Icy fire singed his veins, a horrifyingly appealing sensation that lit sensors in his brain like fireworks, unforgettable and soon, unavoidable. One to calm the obnoxious chants of friends soon became another amongst a sea of bodies, another snuck between his fingers in the halls. He continued it through high school. Shaking the scent from his clothes, squirreling away in unknown crevices, hanging out in the water alcoves where voices and laughter echo into a grand howl. Hidden outside the dorm halls in college, past curfew with the door propped ajar with a shoe. 

Logically, he knew it was a horrid habit that he kept under lock and key until his twenties. He was an athlete for chrissake, that’s the last thing he should be doing to himself.

And yet, he had felt no need to quit. 

No one had ever figured it out besides the friends he had smoked with, and Delsin, after he had not-so-smartly snooped through his older brother’s room in search of his mp3 player to steal.

Delsin thought it was horrid, the whole thirteen years of him, and Reggie had simply told him to mind his business.

Quitting became a reality when he was suddenly responsible for Delsin in every legal, emotional, financial way. There was no time for a smoke break when there were bills to pay, when there was a funeral to plan and hands full of pity and sympathy to shake. No way to sneak out of bed when Delsin was clinging to him with still-drying tears. He had no choice but to neglect the habit, with Betty at his heels to help with the grief, with the adult stuff that he had not been ready for. 

When people offer, ask, he holds his hand up and says, “Oh, I don’t smoke,” the lie pearly white and a secret he carries. 

It hadn’t taken a lot of convincing in himself to say it doesn’t matter, not now, not after he quit cold turkey.

Except for the times during his estrangement with Delsin; finding random pills in his brother’s pockets during laundry, the younger coming home reeking of booze and regrets that were left unspoken. Late nights watching over him to make sure he didn’t choke on his vomit or die in his sleep, emotions boiling over into something ugly and tainted when all they desperately wanted was one another to _understand_.

Reggie smoked a lot, those days. Hidden on the porch, out in the back of the station, telling himself it was only the one, that he deserved it, that he was doing his best.

That he hadn’t _asked_ for any of it.

They get through it (barely), so it doesn’t matter, really.

He does good for a while, after that.

It had been Seattle that really pushed on his patience, made that agitation triple and crawl under his skin like a wicked ghost sensation. The stress grew into a wild crescendo, hiding around corners and morphing into an energy that left his skull buzzing with anxieties. Wondering if he was going to get arrested, tortured at the hands of the woman that had terrorized everyone he loved and respected. Watching the motel door in case Delsin walked through with remnants of dried blood from wounds long healed over.

He cleared through a good few packs those weeks, embraced the nicotine like an old friend in the dark of the parking lot, bracing the rain and the cold in favor of the disgusting habit. Thinking of all his decisions in his life, of the pained regret in Fetch’s eyes. The chilling fear and vulnerability in Eugene’s. The darkness of the world and cruelty of humanity. getting less and less subtle until his beloved little brother rips him apart three different ways for it. 

_“I thought you_ **_quit_ ** _, man!” He had said, tossing the pack hard enough it bounces against their pathetic coffee table, making the older grimace._

_“I did! I mean--I have! It’s complicated.” Delsin gives him that stare, the vaguely disappointed but mostly angry stare and the guilt of giving in settles deep into his gut._

It’s a lot harder to hide it after that, and Reggie had been back to furiously chewing gum, sucking on popsicles and suckers hoping to alleviate the oral fixation of it all. 

If he was an asshole a few times, he’s sorry, really he is.

And for a long time he had it under control again, he started working out after physical therapy. He ate better, lived better, got a dog and had more people to distract him from the constant craving in his brain.

He reminded himself Delsin went through much, much worse.

But there were still...times. 

“Want one?” Desmond offers one night on the longhouse deck, leaning against the post with the pack in his hands. He’s joking, obviously, that strange humor he has that pulls a scowl most of the time. It makes the surprise that crosses the man’s face semi-satisfying when the former officer nods in confirmation, holding his hand out and taking the god awful stick with a low, “thanks.” 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” The bartender mutters around his own, pulling the filter free from his teeth to balance it between his fingers instead. The first inhale feels like the best kind of burn. Cold. Sharp. Relieving in a way Reggie knows is not healthy, closes his eyes against the smoke burning his throat, his lungs, exhaling a long sigh through his nose. He’s not a fan of menthol, didn’t take Desmond for a menthol guy, but it does the job.

“As far as you and most of the world knows, I don’t.” It’s the first time he’s seen amusement in the man’s eyes that wasn’t caused by Delsin. Golden eyes turning into glittering slits and for a brief moment, the older supposes he understands his brother’s infatuation with the guy. He finds it ironic that his brother, the health conscious former addict fell for a man that has enough vices to fill a jar.

Love is blind, he supposes.

“Dirty little secret, huh?”

“Something like that.” A dark chuckle, and they smoke in stiff, understanding silence. Reggie feels the buzz of the nicotine under his skin, a pleasant sensation that leaves him closing his eyes against it.

He knows it’s a bad idea, knows regardless of the choices he makes smoking eliminates the hard work, but the buzz feels like settling into cool blankets after a long day, like for a split second things make sense again.

He knows he should talk to someone about the days he feels like he’s under water, struggling to breathe as his seconds of survival tick by. The world muffled under the sea, his own heart thundering in his chest and making the need to breathe worse.

Clawing at concrete, vision darkening at the corners, closing...closing.

He takes another drag and tries not to think about it. 

“Does Delsin know?” Desmond questions, isn’t looking at him. Instead he stares ahead at the horizon, the ocean a barely there moving mass of darkness. Taunting Reggie. He used to love the ocean, still does in the brightness of the day. When tourist’s corral to the reefs, when children play in the sand and there is life and _love_ in the ocean that reminds him of better days. It’s the dark that gets to him, the memory of ice cold water, the burn of salt, the fear of death.

“He thinks I’ve been smoke free for a good year.” And...he has. He thinks. There was once, after physical therapy he’d had some sort of episode. Manic, they had said at his therapy session. 

_It’s okay to feel out of control_ , they had said.

 _Control is a fictitious concept_ , they had tried to comfort him. 

He’d been a little manic, and he needed it to silence his thoughts and he’d been so guilty after he’d thrown out a whole pack, which had just upset him more because they were expensive. 

He doesn’t know why he can’t let it go, he hates it. Hates the rush of it and how it’s comforting to see the glow of the embers in the dark. The soft billow of smoke and quiet peace in his body if only for a moment.

Ha. Look at him. His brother takes harder, scarier things and works through his addiction and doesn’t touch it again. 

Then again Delsin always has been a little more head strong than him, even if the younger won’t admit it. Reggie was a workaholic bred from necessity. His body only knew work because work meant money and money meant support and support meant Delsin wasn’t going hungry. He was an early riser because he knew nothing else, too used to his routine to really acknowledge the strange melancholy he’d be under for weeks at a time.

He knows, in the deepest part of his heart that if he had the choice he would lie down and let the world do what it pleased with him. 

“He wants you to be.”

“...Yeah, that’s the basis of it.” It had been a silent joint effort, a nonverbal agreement that if Delsin made it through his withdrawals, Reggie would quit smoking. It had brought them closer, it had stitched those gaps in their relationship that had manifested in the months, year of Delsin’s downward spiral. They work together to be better, healthier people, even with the older failing his half until he almost died. Unable to shake his apathy, his lingering sense of something dark and bitter that settled under his ribs like a persistent ache. Desmond’s looking at him now, calculating as he raises the cigarette back to his lips and takes a drag, swallowing the guilt but blowing the smoke in a sigh. 

“He loves you a lot, you know.” The bartender says, brings his own to his mouth, keeping eye contact and Reggie has to break it. Desmond had always given him...odd vibes. With his long stares and stiff hands, as if he were to stray from his expected lines he would lose control. A lingering shiver in the bottom of his spine, a gut feeling that he chose to ignore when his brother looked at someone with so much _wow_. 

“I could say the same about you,” He rebuffs, squashes down the _I love him too_ on the tip of his tongue. I love him too doesn’t cover it, won’t ever cover his emotions and feelings towards his one and only sibling. The remainder of his family. He loves Delsin with everything he has, but he’s old enough to know old wounds are scarred over and tender.

They’d hurt each other a lot, after the accident. After Reggie quit being Reg and started being Deputy Rowe in a desperate attempt to pay their bills, pay their parents remaining debt. After Delsin turned his nose up at him for participating in the system. Spited Reggie, himself, his body with drugs and alcohol and people who’d sooner empty his wallet than call an ambulance. 

Words that are locked in the wood of the house, pillows screamed into and doors slammed hard enough to shake. There was support and there was an unwavering loyalty that came from respect. But there was also a tired old resentment never fully resolved.

The older didn’t resent his brother for needing care after their parents died. He just...resented...everything else. He supposed. 

He bites on the filter to stave off the thoughts, too tired to deal with his own depressive, introspective bullshit right now. It’s what he’s been doing the last year; stuck in the past. Stuck in the water and the clouds of Arcadia with Delsin’s terrified, tear filled eyes begging him not to do it. He takes another drag, hangs his head as he exhales and peers at his boots, tired. Always so tired. 

“Yeah,” Desmond admits, Reggie’s heart clenching at the barely covered affection in the other’s voice, relief and respect mingling together. “But I think you undermine your value to him a little too much.” 

He has nothing to say to that, just stares off into the night. The clouds are heavy, concealing the sea into a mass of black that crashes against the shore, the sound a distant thrum of rushing water that leaves Reggie’s bad leg shaking just a little. There is too much to be said sometimes; so much grief to air and so many apologies to give. He often wonders if there’s such a thing as leaving your life without regrets, without the ghosts of the past to follow you and your own fears to leave welts in your soul. 

He is a tired man. A tired, ever so slightly bitter man.

They smoke in silence for a little longer, the ugly creaking of the old longhouse door startling Reggie enough to drop the remainder of his cigarette, stomp the embers and evidence with his boot as he exhales hastily. 

“What are you guys still doing out here?” Delsin asks, the step of his shoes light and quick on the wood. 

“Just talking,” Desmond answers as the younger Rowe kneels down to press a kiss to the top of his head. He makes a vague sound of disgust at the site of the cigarette, shown in the way he pats his boyfriend’s face a little too roughly. He doesn’t seem to mind, just chuckles and bows his head. 

Delsin’s eyes come to him, just as dark as his, as always, but so much lighter with life and joy and there it is. That old guilt, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth, the taste of smoke no longer comforting. 

“Betty’s looking for you, says she has someone that wants to meet you.” 

Reggie can’t help his groan, leaning back and placing his hands on the rough wood of the Longhouse to peer at his sibling pathetically. Their family friend has been especially adamant about the older meeting someone, of making new friends as she says. He needs to get out more, she lectures. Ignores his objections that he of course knows most if not all the locals, and doesn’t need help meeting “someone nice to spend time with.” 

“Don’t make me.” There is just a little betrayal in the squinting of Delsin’s eyes, attempting desperately to conceal his silent laughter. 

“Just humor her, man.” 

“The last time I humored her I ended up on a date at the fish fry with Robin Philips.”

“You had a good time didn’t you?”

“If by a good time she proceeded to tell me about the time she saw me puke my guts out in the gym Junior year, yeah it was great.”

Desmond barks a laugh, hard enough to almost fall back and ignore the conduit’s scolding shove with his foot. 

“You don’t have to, I’m just the messenger,” Delsin’s hands rise in surrender, having long said his peace about the older’s social circle being him, and his two under 30 friends, and a dog.

He _likes_ them, though. Everyone seems to lack understanding in that department. He likes taking care of the trio; he likes (silently) the way they raid his fridge and invade his space. Reggie likes being around them, feeling as if he is giving the two younger members something they had been desperately missing. He likes taking Miles on his walks in the morning, letting the big dope of a dog gallop across the soft sand and telling himself this was meant where his life was supposed to go.

He. Likes to be useful. He supposes. 

“I’ll see you inside,” he says to Desmond, who smiles up at him and for just a split second, the niggling in the back of the Sheriff’s head to replace a barely there envy. 

He is lonely, though he’s loathes to admit it.

“See you inside.”

The moment the doors closed, Reggie sighs and drops his head into his hands, ruining the careful comb back with a tired mutter. 

“He’s kinda right. Wouldn’t hurt to humor her.” A sharp glare, met with a sharper grin that forces the older to avert his gaze.

“Thank you, Desmond. I’ll be sure to remember on my next blind date.”

It wasn’t the date themselves that drove him over some strange edge; it was the process. He’d never been the best when it came to love and romance and all its delicate inner workings. He didn’t have his brother’s charm, his wit, he’d always been painfully genuine and unable to take on that suave sort of persona. 

People often didn’t like his ‘actions speak louder than words’ approach, when it came to something like commitment.

He was getting too old for flings, for the exhausting tribulations of failed dates and attempting conversation via text.

A snicker, the other shamelessly killing the end of his cigarette and snuffing it harshly against the ground. He comes to a stand, and for a moment he seems lost in thought, peering at the older Rowe in consideration. 

“See you inside?” There was more to it than a request; as if Desmond saw past the thin wall to whatever Reggie was going through, and the older felt...attacked. For a split second. Clearing his throat and pointedly looking away from the other’s gaze. 

Desmond was far smarter than he let people believe. 

“Yeah, see you inside.”

He’ll give himself a little longer to pout, to internalize all his thoughts and pack them up nicely, tied with a ribbon and hidden in the corner of his mind. 

He was lonely.

He was a mess.

There was nothing he could do but continue on. 

He heads inside ten minutes later, bracing the noise and merriment of the Longhouse. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know this came out of the blue, but this was kinda me trying to stretch my writing muscle after being away so long! School really rocked my world again, and I've had a lot of changes in my life yet again. Got a new job, met someone very sweet >o>, lost that job, was in my first exhibition show and cried a whole lot. O' the joys of being a senior in college.
> 
> I'm gonna try and write, because I do find it relaxing and I really think I need to take hold of my hobbies again!! End Around will be updated soon, and I'll be pulling up old wips from my folders as well as posting things I wrote personally for series that had never happened, ETC. 
> 
> I hope you like it! For loving Reggie so intensely, I seldom write in his perspective...hmmm
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Hugs!


End file.
